We Survived Because of Me!
by The Power of The Book
Summary: Written for the Open Scrolls Challenge. GollumSmeagol debates the merits of surviving, and the identities of hunter and prey.


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A miserable little vignette about the two years between Gollum/Smeagol's losing the Ring, and him leaving to search for it. All switches between 'his' and 'their' etc. are intentional. Title is taken from Smeagol/Gollum's monologue in The Two Towers.

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We Survived Because of Me!

Sniffing miserably, he squatted at the mouth of the cave, looking balefully out at the pristine landscape that slumbered beneath a soothing blanket of white, preserved for the next year.

He had been so long in the caves that the rhythm of the seasons had long ceased to have meaning for him, only vaguely hinted at by the temperature that crawled through the caves and into his bones. It did not bother them overmuch, as the Precious had been theirs…

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The Precious…

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Filthy Baggins! Stealing the Precious! Unfair, unfair! It was their birthday gift…

No matter how much they wanted, needed the Precious, if he could not eat, they would never find it. Goblins were scarce now, for some time after the filthy Baggins stole the Precious, the goblins had fled the caverns, screaming something fierce about a tall man in grey convincing a giant to block the main entryway. Without the Precious, they had been forced to hide in the pool, even though the goblins still avoided the cave. Deprived of that source of nourishment, he busied himself with the fish in his pool. 

Foolishly.

Now the fish were all gone, and they were caught in a struggle to survive in the throes of winter.

He slumped against the cavern walls despondently. The stone, buffed by millennia of sand and wind, resembled great chunks of wax as they reflected the glare of the snow.

He did not want to go out, as it would only be colder. Breath poured from his sharp little mouth like an icy fume.

They knew they must get up, must find food! They would starve without it, and the Precious would not be theirs!

Tentatively, he stepped into the icy white mess. Almost as bad as yellow-face, with its glare!

Step by excruciating step he edged with care as he bare-footedly descended the mountain. First his feet went numb, then his hands, followed by his legs and nose…

It did them no good to dwell on it. Better to sing a song in their head as they hunted, so that they need not think on pain and stay silent before bigger hunters.

There was a time in his life when he had liked this weather, had enjoyed being snug and warm in his grandmother's house, singing songs.

Then they would have to sing one!

Yet he had thought of his grandmother for the first time in so long! She loved to tell him riddles, and he began to recite one in his head;

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Dry as a husk

Smelt as a musk

Sweet but not spicy

Bark but not a tree.

Cinnamon powder, of course. He smiled for the first time in so long, in fact the last time he had truly smiled had been with Deagol…

Deagol.

He was suddenly assaulted by a gamut of emotions that had not right to rush upon him like this after so many years' absence.

How much easier it would be for him if he lay down in the snow, let the cold take him in a painless grip, his long punishment over, his mind drifting to stay forever on the river he had grown up on. He did not realize his step had slowed and halted.

No they mustn't! The Precious called! They must get up, _they must!_

But this was so much easier on him…

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Easier! They had already done a lot of hard things. Deagol, for example.

Not Deagol.

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Yes, _Deagol. _Desire had ensnared both them and Deagol, and it was not easy to kill Deagol to possess it, and yet they triumphed.

A dash of bright color caught his eye. A scattering of red feathers, the last remains of a cardinal as is lost the battle for survival. Lost to a desire for life.

The only life they had _now _was the Precious. Deagol and Grandmother were long dead, and they must find the Precious, just as the hunter must have found the cardinal.

A splash to his left caught their attention. A fish, foolishly jumping up from an unfrozen brook had caused it.

There. There was the first goal. Once they quieted the desire for food, they would become the hunter of the Precious. The hunter that sought the prey.

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Or, he thought, his vitality restored somewhat, _was it the other way around?_

It did not matter much to them. They must eat.

So with a final hacking _'gollum'_, they went after the fish, becoming the hunter.

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Or the prey. 


End file.
